Ostrich
by Nyx
Summary: Nyx has returned. To read is human; to review, divine.


Ostrich

by nyx

-----

Every streetlamp seems to beat

A fatalistic warning.

Someone mutters and a streetlamp gutters

And soon it will be morning!

-----

Morning is coming. I know it; I can feel it in my bones. Outside the window the rain beats a steady rythym on the glass, and I watch the huge, fat drops slide down the panes and out of sight for a few moments. The feeling is of being safe and dry, warm and comforted, out of the storm's way. I can't see anything beyond a grey blur and the black sketchings of the tree that rubs against the side wall of the building, now; I can't hear the skritch-scratch of the windblown branches over the howling force of the gale outside.

But for now it's still night; my arm is colder than the rest of me as it is outside the sheets, and I pull it back into the warm haven of the comforter. Your face is innocent in sleep, and I push a stubborn lock of hair off of it. The hair falls right back. Typical of you, of course. I don't expect anything else, not after so long in your company. But thinking of those days makes me think of our other friends; makes me feel guilty. I'm warm and snug and content in the circle of your embrace, but where are they? Searching the world for their contentment? Or have they given up by now, realizing how futile it all is? I can imagine the other best friend of mine, curled up in a ball among fallen leaves, tired of life, tired of living and searching alone for what he might have had, once.

Three is a bad number. My mother always told me that. Three's company, but it often seems a crowd. I finally agree with her, now, so many years since she died. If we had not been three - if we had been four - he would not have been alone all this time, my dear friend, my old friend, he who probably curses my name nightly.

Am I an ostrich with its head in the sand? Because that's what he accused me of being, last time I saw him. It must've been years ago - at least four or five. His face was so angry, so sad, so hopeless, but he pressed on, telling me I had to try. Telling me I had to fight the good fight, or I would never truly live. I didn't believe him, of course. I thought I could find happiness here, living out my life normally - and I can; if only I could forget the past!

You - the one I am with now, my only, my own - snuggle into the pillows more. Perhaps you feel a draft, but you pull my body tighter against you. If I had stayed, I wouldn't have ever known you - not this way, of course, though many other ways I would have. Beautiful, beautiful you, relaxed in sleep. You've been more relaxed in the past years than I'd ever seen you before; it made you more perfect than ever. But did that perfection come at a price? Everything does, in the end.

The rain patters down. I stare at the ceiling and stroke your hair. Am I being selfish, saving this little corner of the world for my paradise? Am I running away, really, from the world and everything that is truly important in life?

My answer does not come, but I disentangle your arms from my body and slide out of bed. You mumble something, but do not awaken; I'm glad you don't. It's one less thing I need to worry about. I dress quickly, suddenly chilled, and wear sweaters enough for the coldest part of winter - almost upon us now. Water washes the everyday dirt off the windows, leaving them sparkling but dulling the sights outside. I've been looking through that kind of a window for these years. Everything outside my little sphere of existance was blurred, unimportant. That's about to change.

I pen a note to you, telling you not to follow me. With one last look at your face, I slip out the door, and into the rain. Old friend?

I'm coming.

-----

When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory too

Look! A new day has begun!

-----

Sequels: Nyx does not do sequels

Disclaimer: the song is "Memory" from "Cats." I don't need a disclaimer for the Harry Potter stuff.

Feedback: is ambrosia at nyxfics@hotmail.com.

Note: I know that Flourish had used "Memory" before; I couldn't resist. Also, I know that this has very little to do with Harry Potter if you take it at face value; however, Harry Potter was very much the inspiration for it. Look a little closer.

~Nyx~

nyxfics@hotmail.com

www.geocities.com/nyxfics/

"The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day

is crept into the bosom of the sea"

-Shakespeare, Henry VI 


End file.
